


Attaboy

by FyrMaiden



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 03:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7026715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FyrMaiden/pseuds/FyrMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It might be his unpronounceable cocktail, or it might be that the boy on the next table is just that cute. Kurt's not sure, but he wants to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attaboy

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: 'Why exactly do you need chloroform at 2am' and 'I'm like, 75% sure this won't explode on us.'

Kurt can’t take his eyes off of the boy - man, really, he supposes - two tables over from where he sits with his best friend Rachel as she pours through the karaoke song book for the third time. He doesn’t know why she bothers, really. She’ll only sing ‘Don’t Rain On My Parade’ again anyway. He tunes her out so he can listen to the boy with the slicked down hair and the wide bright smile as he holds his audience captive with a story that sounds, from Kurt’s vantage point of not remotely close enough to hear, brilliantly funny. He’s full of emphatic hand gestures and an intensity that Kurt can feel and would like to feel closer. Against his mouth, if he had an option. Against his skin and -

He stops himself. They’re in public and the boy at the table two across isn’t even in the vicinity of consenting to Kurt’s ridiculous pining. It’s just - it’s been awhile since the aborted coffee dates with a man who turned out to be a little older than he’d advertised, and even longer since Adam, whom his roommate Santana had called, intermittently, England and Doctor Who and, in one shining sparkling moment of British pop culture excellence, Towie. He’s not thirsty, he’s just - he’s a little parched.

And hair gel isn’t even a pint of water, and he’s also probably straight. Or Kurt thinks he could be, until he clocks the high waters and the boat shoes and delicate ankles that Kurt definitely wants to lick.

Wait. What?

Rachel announces, loudly, that she’s made her song selection, and Kurt blinks and turns to smile at her politely.

“What are we singing today?” he asks, and she grins her own wide showbiz smile, all teeth and sincerity, and says, “Don’t Rain On My Parade.” Kurt smiles and nods and turns back to the ongoing tale that he can barely hear.

“So anyway,” says hair gel. “I said to Artie, ‘Why exactly do you need with chloroform at 2am?’ And he looked up at me from where he was sitting and, without even blinking an eye, I swear it, he said, ‘To knock out the dogs in the yard next door.’ Seriously. He couldn’t get a clean take because they kept barking when he yelled action!”

Everyone laughs and turns to look at the man in the wheelchair at their table. He shrugs and smiles and pushes his glasses up his nose. “It was 2am,” he says, as if that explains anything. “It made sense at the time.”

Kurt snorts a laugh that he tries hard to turn into a cough, and then he picks up his drink and tries to look inconspicuous, sitting alone at a table in a karaoke bar wearing a shirt with fox on it and sipping a drink that’s virtually a tongue twister to order. His eyes slip over to hair gel’s table, and no one there is looking at him so maybe it’s -

No one is looking at him, he realises, except for hair gel himself. Hair gel, who has really great arms. Kurt suspects it must be nice, being held by those arms. And damn his pale skin but whoomp, there’s all the blood in his body, pooling in his cheeks and down his neck and beneath his shirt and he’ll probably die now anyway, because there’s no blood left to keep him alive. He’s going to be starved of oxygen any second and this whole nightmare will be over.

Hair gel makes his excuses to his friends and stands, heads towards Kurt, who stares fixedly at his straw. This will all go away in a minute, he knows it will. He just has to -

He jumps when hair gel’s hand appears in front of him, and then the manners his dad drummed into him kick in. He takes the proffered hand and looks up to find a pair of bright hazel eyes staring at him. In the orange hued light of the bar, those eyes could almost be gold. Kurt wonders how they look in the morning, and then bites his lip and looks away.

“I’m Blaine,” says hair gel, and Kurt risks looking back at him.

“Kurt,” he answers. Blaine smiles and this time it’s just for him. It’s sweet and it’s sincere, and Kurt feels the corners of his own mouth lift slightly.

“I saw you laughing,” Blaine says, and gestures back to his own table. On stage, Rachel powers her way through her go-to song. Kurt nods his head and Blaine takes the seat beside him. “You have a nice smile,” he says, and Kurt wrinkles his nose. “Let me buy you a drink,” Blaine tries again, and Kurt blinks and shakes his head, and then gestures to his glass, with its little cocktail umbrella. He tries to pronounce it with a tongue that’s almost entirely made of lead. Blaine’s laugh is as captivating as his smile. He disappears, and Kurt finds himself admiring the view. It feels almost invited this time around -

Blaine puts a glass down in front of him. It has steam or smoke or something rolling off of it. “I’m at least 75% certain this won’t explode on us,” he says. Kurt snorts a laugh, and looks at Blaine properly this time. He’s beautiful - clean shaven, his hair meticulously side parted and styled like he’s six decades out of his own time. Dapper, he thinks. Even his sweater vest is stylish, his bow tie matched with his pants. Kurt wouldn’t feel bad stepping out with him.

Stepping out, he thinks. That’s what it would be with Blaine. Not just dating. They’d be stepping out. He wouldn’t mind that at all.

“Can I get your number?” he says, and Blaine grins and nods his head.

“Yes,” he says. “Next time we’ll start at the same table, huh?”

Kurt mumbles a response and taps Blaine’s number into his phone, and Rachel’s song finishes.

Five minutes, Kurt thinks, and the shape of his life might have altered forever.

(Blaine catches him at a bus stop outside. He leans in and presses a kiss to his mouth, and Kurt thinks he was definitely wrong. If the fireworks in his brain are an indicator, there’s a 100% chance this will explode. He doesn’t really care.)


End file.
